


The Next Lannister

by Autumn_Llleaves



Series: The Chronicles of King Daeron the Third [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Bonding, Marriage of Convenience, Motherhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-12 01:17:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3338648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autumn_Llleaves/pseuds/Autumn_Llleaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To secure the Stark–Lannister union and their own future, Tyrion and Sansa are ordered by Daenerys to beget an heir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tyrion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The Widow in Winterfell" only posted yesterday, and here I am with another story from my Tyrion/Sansa series. It's a crazy thing when your favorite characters are both shipped with the same girl.

It was cruel.

Tyrion had rarely said a word against Queen Daenerys, but now he thought her outright _cruel_. 

Just when he and his wife began to slowly develop a stable relationship, formed on trust, friendship, and understanding, Daenerys summoned him to say:

"You're the last Lannister that will be left alive, Tyrion, and Sansa is the last Stark. If you die childless, the largest lands of the kingdom will be thrown in a turmoil – as if there isn't enough of that already!"

"Daenerys!" he cried, aghast. "I thought I told you about my marriage…"

"My Hand, it is very hard for me to interfere in your affairs again. But you've got no choice. You understand it yourself. I would have said on the first day that your wife returned, but I decided to let you grow accustomed to each other."

"Thank you a lot," he said, dripping sarcasm.

The Queen looked at him with pity. She seemed to contemplate something for a while and suggested:

"Does she have any children left from that lover of hers?"

"Have you seen any? I haven't."

"And you – I am sorry – do you know of anyone you might have sired on the wrong side?"

"That, certainly not. I made sure my wenches drank moon tea."

"Then there's no way round." she concluded softly. "If there were any bastards, I could have legitimized them and let you rest. But as it is, there's nothing I can do."

So it was going to be the same all over again. Sansa will watch him with alarm, shrink away from every kind word of his, and he will be avoiding her room even during daytime. She was still grieving and, furthermore, unused to living with him. Of course, Tyrion knew they would have to lay together at least for the sake of heirs. Sometime. But not so soon! It hasn't been even a moon since his reunion with his wife, and it was obvious she wasn't ready for progressing their relationship. 

Tyrion went away, distraught and irritated. How will Sansa react? It wasn't only about him. It was also about her rooted and slowly growing friendship with Daenerys. When she hears of this order, it will turn her against this Queen as well. 

 _Why do you treat her like a crystal vase?_ a more rational part of him insisted.  _Sansa is seven-and-ten and no maiden. There will be no trouble for her to spread her legs, and she has a crowd of maids to wait on her during pregnancy. Just go and get it over with._

But was it worth it? She will hate him after this. Probably she'll leave her child to a nurse and go home to Winterfell as soon as it's won, and he will spend his life alone and married, like a perfect fool. _I should go back to riding pigs and juggling apples, without wasting time._

Sansa was in her room, writing. She had rarely written anything after her escape from Baelish, and now she apparently wanted to make up for it. 

"What is it, my dear?" Tyrion forced a smile, trying to forget about his conversation with Daenerys. 

His wife blushed faintly:

"A ballad."

"A  _ballad?_ "

"Yes, I had written lots of poetry back at home, since I was nine. I've decided to renew the habit."

Recalling the dreamy girl Sansa used to be, Tyrion admitted to himself it was perfectly expected. 

"What is this one about?" he asked, already foreseeing the answer. She blushed further, her look both ashamed and betraying the sadness:

"A Ballad of a Lady and her Faithful Sworn Shield."

 _There you are,_ he chided himself. _Come on, tell her to lie down and bear your child._

"No need to be ashamed, I quite understand," Tyrion spoke aloud. "When you run out of ideas, in the future you might try writing of a Lady and her Faithful Dwarf Husband."

She gave him a small yet pleasantly amused smile, which he counted as a good achievement, and returned her attention to the ballad. Tyrion almost felt the dark ghostly figure of Sandor Clegane standing above her protectively. 

When Sansa left for dinner, he couldn't resist reading the sheets of paper she left behind. He tried to convince himself (and failed miserably) that it was only his usual way of reading everything that's readable. 

_There was a lord, a wise and noble one,_

_A gentle comely lass he took to wife,_

_Five children was their wedlock blessed with,_

_One daughter had her mother's looks and voice._

_She grew to be a lady, and at last_

_Her father sent her to the kingly court,_

_Intended for the prince of the realm…_

The rest was a more or less accurate depiction of Sansa's torture of a life in King's Landing. Although most of it was focused on _the never knighted man_ , who _loved the lady with his whole heart, but never dared to hope for her response_ , Tyrion was pleased Sansa mentioned him as well, and not once, but several times. What's more, he found out that he _was quick to rush to aid the beaten maid_ (even though in Sansa's interpretation it was the Hound who stopped the beating first), and that

_The only man of courage who remained_

_As wildfire raged and burned the skies and seas_

_Was the king's uncle, leading the campaign._

_With dare and cunning equally unmatched_

_At last he threw the enemies away._

That was more than he expected, to be honest. Of course, the battle's description following was all wrong, since Sansa had been in the Holdfast all the time, and she clearly wrote in haste to pass over to the kissing scene, but all the same!

_Daenerys, why did you have to spoil everything? In some time, she would have been ready. Be it months or years…_

Sansa returned from the dinner soon, and he knew at once that she had been told. Her face was bright red – whether from crying or embarrassment, he couldn't determine. She looked away as she saw him. 

"We don't have to do it, Sansa," he pointed out. "Some people try for years to beget a child and fail. The Queen can't even check the sheets. We can say we're attempting it."

"And then?" Sansa asked, turning her eyes back to him. "If we aren't successful after many nights, she may think one of us incapable."

"Let her."

"Tyrion, why can't you see it? You, the smartest man at court! If she thinks one of us incapable, she will annul the marriage and marry you off to some other Northern lady, and me to one of your vassals. Daenerys needs a Stark-Lannister child as a secure claim to both the North and the West at the same time."

"Perhaps it would be for the best," he shrugged, trying not to sound bitter. "After all, you'll get a husband of good height. There are no more dwarves among the Western lords."

"There are no more Western lords that I wish to marry," she reached for the ballad and clutched it to her heart. "Nor men of good height that I'd want."

Tyrion felt his jealousy swell up again, but also underneath it a queer sense of pride. _So since your non-knight in non-shining armor is dead, I'm the only man you would wish to be married to?_

"Cersei once said to me I'll love my children," Sansa continued thoughtfully. He saw what she was getting at. _She needs loved ones. She doesn't love me yet, but she wants love to heal her._

"Even Cersei can say a wise thing, to make a difference."

"You know I trust you," she said, taking his hand. "I respect you. You need children too, besides."

"Hopefully not looking like me."

"I don't care."

_After being the Hound's lover, no wonder a future family of dwarves is nothing unusual for her._

"I want children in the future," she whispered. _But preferably not with me._

She spoke further resolutely:

"I don't want to pretend. I cannot say I want it, but for the children's sake…" she smiled. "Don't you worry about terrifying me in the marriage bed, Tyrion. I know at least that I won't feel suffocated under your weight."

_So dutiful again. But this time, she's right. We are stuck._

"So, let's create the next Lannister then," he said awkwardly. "On one condition."

"Yes, Tyrion?"

"No more sharing of your bedtime memories, please."


	2. Sansa

It hadn't been so terrible, honestly. There was absolutely no pain and, as much as Sansa felt guilty for it, some pleasure – even though Tyrion didn't want to advance it on her and withdrew immediately after the _act_ itself.

 _He's gentle,_ she mused later. _Sandor had been nothing but wild._ She blushed, both from the passionate memories and from the guilt springing again. It had lessened, she had to admit. She recalled Sandor telling her to fight for life in the early days of her plague. He begged her not to succumb to it. Or to any misery, for that matter. Even when he took wounds in fights, he hated it when she sulked because of that.

_Sandor, what would you have wanted, my love? Would you wish me to continue mourning you or try to live with my husband?_

Her husband. Tyrion. Sansa smiled faintly. Always friendly, always ready with a witty remark, never being harsh to her… What was she thinking? With a jolt she realized she was comparing the two men who mattered in her life. For whom she truly mattered. 

Comparing.

Sansa gave a sob, wiping her face with her sleeve. Why did life have to be so awfully complicated? From the stories and songs she had learned in her childhood that her mind might be befuddled, but her heart will always tell her the truth. 

 _And what if my heart's befuddled?_ she groaned.

In a song, it was so easy. The lady usually married her beloved. If she didn't, her husband was an old tyrant or a young warrior tyrant who would always die by the end, from old age or from the rival's blade. If the hero of the story was slain, the lady spent the rest of her life in mourning. 

_Well, I can't afford to anymore. It's been a month since the consummation and my moon blood is three weeks late, combined with nausea in the morningtime._

Sansa caressed her belly. Soon the little life would grow, and she would feel its heartbeat. 

Cersei was right. If Sansa's feelings towards her spouse had still to be sorted out, she knew full well of her feelings towards the small one growing inside her. 

* * *

**Eight moons later, Casterly Rock**

The baby in her arms was smiling. He had cried so hard they certainly could have hear him in the Eyrie, but now he was smiling. At her. Sansa grinned back at the boy happily, and he looked at her with thoughtful bright green eyes.

He wasn't a dwarf, fortunately. A perfect Lannister heir. Somehow, the features that used to infuriate Sansa before seemed wonderful to her now. It was her son who had such soft golden curls, such rosy cheeks. She pinched one of them playfully, and the infant giggled. 

Tyrion was standing on the chair in front of her, looking at the boy proudly.

"So, how should we name him?" he asked. "Tommen thinks it should be Kevan. I'd vote for Gerold, after my great-grandfather."

"Arya sent me a raven practically ordering me to name the child Jon. Why not Jaqen, I wonder?"

"Don't you see? Jaqen is the one and only in the world, but the universe can tolerate several Jons. Robert Arryn asked if the boy could be named for him."

"He as well? So much anxiety, all over the realm," Sansa laughed. "Bran wrote to me, giving a choice of Northern names with his own first."

"Brandon Lannister? Too exotic for me. Besides, your lineage is full of Brandons as it is! Imagine the poor child's education. Uncle Brandon, Great-Uncle Brandon, Brandon the Builder… We don't need him bored with his own name! Well, Sansa, choose. I'm overwhelmed by the variety. Why not Aemon, for the Dragonknight?"

With quiet determination, Sansa looked at him straight, taking the boy's hand:

"It's Sandor."

Tyrion gaped at her incredulously. For a moment, she thought he'd object.

"I've decided," she said firmly. "This is Sandor Lannister, the heir to Casterly Rock. With a loving family and everything he needs, let him find the happiness his namesake had never had."

Her husband's lips finally curled into a smirk again as he took the babe in his arms and tickled his ankles. The boy snickered.

"No one could resemble him less," Tyrion commented.

"But Sandor he will be named."

"Sansa, did I say a word against it? You remember we agreed to be honest between ourselves. Since the memory of Clegane won't ever leave you, it seems, it's just as well if the boy helps preserving it."

Sansa felt a bit ashamed. Mayhaps it would be too hard on Tyrion, having a son with his rival's name.

"I don't mind," he spoke softly. "Clegane had saved your life, and not once, but many times. He was one of the few relatively decent men in that mess with my sweet sister's de facto reign. I'm proud to name the boy after him."

"Then why did you look so shocked, Tyrion?"

"I never thought you'd be this brave," he confessed.

The shock on Tyrion's face was nothing compared to what the great lords of the Kingdoms had felt upon learning of the youngest Lannister's name. Queen Daenerys, herself in a late stage of pregnancy, despite all the prophecies of her never having a living child, was the only one who remained calm. Everyone else was in an uproar.

"A Lannister heir, after _the Hound_?" Lancel Lannister had asked when coming to visit. "Dear cousin, I thought you more intelligent."

"I owe the Hound Sansa's life," Tyrion bit back. "Where were _you_ , dear cousin, as the bread riots in King's Landing raged on? Running to hide under Cersei's skirts?"

Bran, when he visited the Rock, was more calm. It had something to do with his green dreams, as far as Sansa understood, but he at least suspected what had transpired between her and Sandor. He extracted from her the promise to name one of her next sons after Father, and didn't rest until she gave it.

"Maybe I will have no next sons," she tried to wave it off, but it's useless when talking to a greenseer.

"I've seen many golden-haired children," Bran explained, and Sansa couldn't help but see the hopeful expression lighting up in Tyrion's eyes.

After seeing Bran off, she went to the crib to find Tyrion already sitting by its side, making funny faces at the delighted boy. 

"Our son," she sighed.

"Yes, Sansa," Tyrion turned to look at her. "Thank you so much."

She felt herself blushing. After all this time, he did nothing but thank her. Despite everything with their separation, despite her terrible behavior during pregnancy…

"I will try to repay you for all you've done for me," she smiled. 

"A flower and a token of favor would do very well," Tyrion replied, and both snickered. 

"Just be yourself, Sansa," he urged her more seriously. "You are an excellent wife, I assure you."

"You are an excellent husband," she answered in the same tone without thinking, and on impulse leaned down and planted a light kiss on his lips. 

Realizing what had happened, Sansa backed away in embarrassment.

"Oh, Tyrion, I didn't mean to tease you!" she cried. She knew full well that he wanted her, and knew just as well that teasing someone whom you constantly reject is absolutely merciless. 

But Tyrion, climbing onto a chair, patted her shoulder reassuringly:

"It's not teasing, my dear. It's called development."

She hugged him back and smiled, looking at the child – _their_ child – slumbering in the crib. 

Development it is, she thought, feeling her heart calm for the first time in a long, long while.


End file.
